Usual disclaimer applies
Found my very first fanfiction attempt and decided to revise it ever so slightly…space the text out and stuff mostly but I enriched some of the story too…Enjoy!
THOUGHT SHOWER
Dante's Inferno and Baltimore state Hospital for the criminally insane share a similar structure when it comes to the placement of evil, the worst goes to the bottom. In Dante's Inferno we find Satan himself at the very bottom, desperately flapping his leathery wings as to pull himself out of the pool that holds him, in the hospital we find the maximum-security ward.
For Dante's pilgrim there is also a haven at this screaming base, his escape and freedom. For Dr. Hannibal Lecter, its the scrap of peaceful freedom in the form of the lengthy showering room.
As you are reading this fiction, I assume that you, like me, are an admirer of the Doctor or else you are just reading random fics. If you are the latter, I suggest you leave now as this following passage can only be truly appreciated by true Lecter obsessives, admirers and avid fans…
Thank-you, now we may continue.
Now, what if you were actually in the infamous hospital right now, follow me and we will proceed to that very place. Now, where should we go first? Oh, of course. Basement floor, maximum- security wing, last cell. Very well, there we shall venture.
As we pass down the corridors we are only seen as spirit like figures, not even really visible, as we are only here in our minds eye, doors hold no authority to us. Down the tiled staircase, the smells of hot plastic and disinfectant fill our noses as we descend, down and down. Finally we reach the black gate and slip past, undetected by Barney, engrossed in 'Great Expectations'.
Steps quickening as we come ever closer to our goal but as we reach that fabled barred front we see the opening loose, the netting hung down behind, the cell quite empty. Shall we enter? Okay, but only briefly as we have someone to meet. Inside the cool stone cell now, fingers grazing over the sketches and annotated graphs spread on his desk, rolling a pencil along, fitting your palm to a charcoal sketch of his own.
Moving slowly to his rumpled bed, the imprint of a person still slightly imprinted and as we sit wee can still feel a slight heat from it. He must have been sitting here before he left, we must soon do the same. Go ahead, lie where he lies, stretch your body into the space where he sleeps and nuzzle your face into his pillow, catch the light scent of his hair. Out now, another short journey ahead of us as we seek out our reason for coming. Don't worry, he is close, and we shall seek him.